


Tenacity

by emungere



Category: Pet Shop of Horrors
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-22
Updated: 2004-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 14:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2655929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For <strong>wyomingnot</strong>: Pet Shop of Horrors: tenacity, tupperware, timing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tenacity

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for...Leon being Leon, I guess. His usual massive cultural insensitivity, etc.

Leon raised his hand to knock on D's door and let it fall again. His feet had taken him here automatically--end of the day, get tea, look in on Chris--but he wasn't sure he actually wanted to see D right now. Or rather, he wasn't sure he wanted D to see him.

The door opened anyway, and D looked just as cross as if Leon had been banging on his door for five minutes straight. "Detective, do you realize what time it is?"

"Late. I don't know. How'd you know I was out here? I didn't even knock."

"You were thinking about it." D frowned still more. In about twenty years, his face was going to wrinkle up and stick that way, like a cranky Chinese raisin. "You're all wet. What have you been doing?"

"It's raining, you moron! Of course I'm fucking wet! What, do you think water doesn't stick to me? I'm not a goddamn duck."

"Of course not, Detective," D said soothingly. He tugged on Leon's sleeve. "You'd better come in. Chris will be very upset if you catch pneumonia."

"I'll drip all over your floor."

D raised one eyebrow: _And you care about the state of my carpets since when, exactly?_ Leon found it a little disturbing that he could read that much from one eyebrow.

He shrugged. "I was gonna go home anyway. It's late. I should get a shower."

But D was herding him inside with fluttering touches, his expression growing gradually more horrified as Leon let himself be drawn into the light.

"Have you been swimming in garbage all night?" D asked. "Have you forfeited any sense of personal hygiene you might have had?"

"Aw, shut up." He had been swimming in garbage, pretty nearly. The hours spent pulling evidence out of three separate dumpsters had been worth it--the assistant D.A. had nearly kissed him when he brought it in, despite the stench, which meant the case would stick. But damn, he needed a shower.

But he was here, and D didn't seem to plan on letting him leave. He sighed and headed for the couch.

"Don't you dare sit down!" D nearly shrieked. "Heaven only knows what that is on your pants."

"Heaven doesn't wanna know. Look, D. I'm fucking exhausted--"

"Language!"

"I am _goddamn fucking_ exhausted! I need a goddamn fucking _shower_! If I don't get one, at least you can let me sit the fuck down."

D sighed and folded his hands together. "You do indeed need to bathe. Especially before you sit on my sofa." He pointed towards a door Leon wasn't sure he'd ever seen before. "The second door on the left. Please do not come back until you are presentable."

Leon opened his mouth to argue and closed it again. He was here. The shower was here. The shower was probably clean, too, which was more than he could say for the one in his apartment. He was expecting the mold colony on the ceiling to start building pyramids any day now, like on that freaky episode of The Outer Limits.

"Okay," he said. "Fine. But I'm going home right after."

"Gracious as ever," D murmured, but he was smiling just a little.

Leon stomped off through the door at the back of the room, which led into a short hallway. He tried the first door on the left and the first door on the right, just in case there was anything to see in them, but they were both locked. Damn.

The bathroom door opened easily and revealed an expanse of white marble easily as big as his bedroom. There was no shower, only a huge clawfoot tub. Leon sighed. He should've expected that. The Count probably took goddamn bubble baths every night.

On the bright side, the tub was full of steaming water, and it smelled good--not like flowers or anything girly like that, but something darker. Leon had no clue what it was, but it was a damn sight better than the incense D was always burning.

He locked the door, stripped off his clothes, and sank into the water, letting it close above his head. After a few seconds, he made himself sit up before he drowned and set to work scrubbing himself clean. He had to wash his hair three times, but finally he got the last of the muck out. Weirdly, the water still seemed to be as clean as when he'd started.

He shrugged off this new oddity, got out, and dried himself. He looked at his clothes on the floor. Oh, christ, they looked disgusting. But there was nothing else for it. Except--there were sort of pajama-looking things hanging on the back of the door, way too large to be D's. He pulled them down and examined them.

The pants were pretty normal, white silk, drawstring waist. They looked plenty long enough for him. The shirt, when he held it up, reached almost to his knees, which was getting dangerously close to dress territory. It was slit up the sides almost to the waist and had one of those Chinese collars.

Leon hesitated. His clothes were seriously gross, but this was a little much. Why couldn't D have normal clothes?

There was a knock on the door.

"What?"

"If you will give me your clothes, I can wash them for you before you leave," D said.

"And what am I supposed to wear in the meantime?"

"I left you--"

"You don't have one single pair of jeans? A t-shirt? Even a robe?"

"Your gratitude overwhelms me, Detective."

Leon sighed. "Yeah, okay. Sorry. Hold on."

He steeled himself and pulled the pants on. The shirt took more time because of all the weird little buttons, really just knots of fabric that had to go through loops of fabric, but he got them done up eventually.

"If you laugh, I'm kicking your ass," he called.

"I assure you, I will not--"

Leon opened the door, and D, for a miracle, stopped talking.

"Well," D said, after a pause. "You do clean up remarkably well, I must say."

"Shut _up_ ," Leon mumbled. He hoped to god he wasn't blushing.

D's hand brushed his arm. It felt strange through the silk. "This way, my dear detective."

A minute later, Leon was sitting on D's couch with a cup of tea, and D was doing something or other back in the kitchen.

"What's in this stuff?" Leon called. "It tastes weird."

"A few herbs, Detective. Nothing more."

"Marijuana's an herb."

D sighed. "St. John's Wort, valerian, chamomile. No marijuana, I promise you."

"Hmph." It didn't taste bad, though. His mom used to make him chamomile tea when he was little and couldn't sleep.

He picked up the cup and wandered into the kitchen. "What are you doing back here?"

D was pulling a few glass boxes out of the fridge. They looked like they had leftovers in them, so there were probably D's version of tupperware. Figured he couldn't use the plastic kind like normal people.

"I thought you could use some supper, and we did have some left over. I only need to heat it up. Please go and sit down, Detective. I do not need you hovering."

Leon shrugged. Sitting down was okay by him. He flopped back on the couch and knocked back the rest of the tea, pouring himself another cup. He listened to the chink of dishes from the next room and the nearly inaudible murmur of D's voice. Talking to himself? Leon wouldn't be surprised.

The room was warm. He leaned his head back against the couch and cradled his tea cup against his chest. Hell of a day. But this wasn't a bad way to end it. Not bad at all. He let his eyes close, just for a second.

***

D stepped out of the kitchen a moment later to catch Leon's teacup just as it started to slip from his grasp.

"I suppose the leftovers can wait until breakfast," D said softly.

"Mmrph," Leon mumbled in reply.

D smiled and spread a shawl over him.

"Good night, my dear detective. Sweet dreams."


End file.
